


only bought this dress (so you could take it off)

by londongrammar



Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: (i'm not sorry), F/M, I'm Sorry, two parts fluff one part sin, winnipeg through edmonton with eduardo on top
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-17
Updated: 2018-05-17
Packaged: 2019-05-07 11:31:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14670197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/londongrammar/pseuds/londongrammar
Summary: “Wait,” he whispers, and it’s amazing what his voice can do to her. The effect has been cultivated through years and years of touching and connecting, on the ice and off, and she’s never been able to explain the hypnotizing influence it has on her. It’s been soothing when she needs the calm, and agitating when she has to channel her anger into movement, and commanding when she needs to be pushed from the precipice into the abyss, and steadying after a devastating fall, and powerful when she wants his strength in the final moments of a dance.This, too, is a dance.*or, Tessa, Scott, and a week with that elusive blue dress.





	only bought this dress (so you could take it off)

**Author's Note:**

> me before the edmonton show: hmmm i haven’t been inspired lately, i wonder when i’ll write again  
> edmonton vm: continue eduardogate™, bring us dressgate™ and jacketgate™  
> me this week: it’s about to get lit, fam
> 
> title is from dress by taylor swift. I DON’T EVEN LIKE TAYLOR SWIFT THIS IS WHAT VM DO TO ME

She’s standing in the long security line, patiently waiting for her turn, when she lets out a huge gasp.

 

 _Guess what_ , his text says, but it’s not the words that cause the reaction. It’s the picture that comes with it.

 

The first thing she recognizes is his hand, of course. She’d know his hands anywhere. The picture was taken in semi-darkness, but she can make out the veins that she loves tracing with the tips of her fingers, every time they hold hands. She can see the edge of his palm, can almost feel the touch that lights up every part of her skin, as supportive or soft or tender or rough as it needs to be.

 

It takes a few more seconds to make out what his hand is _holding_. It’s a piece of blue fabric, bunched up in a tight grip, and she tries to remember if she picked out any blue shirts to pack into the suitcase he took with him when he left London, early this morning. She had to stay back and stage a photoshoot at her house, while he flew to Winnipeg with the rest of the team. She doesn’t recall packing any piece of clothing in that shade.

 

He texts again.

 

_now my bedsheets smell like you_

 

 _That’s_ when she gasps.

 

He _didn’t_.

 

 _you didn’t_ , she writes.

 

 _i did,_ he says. _snuck into the truck, found the garment bag with your name on it, took it, no-one stopped me._

 

 _THIEF,_ she writes. She chuckles at his antics, until a particular thought enters her brain.

 

 _what are you doing with it?_ she writes, and even typing out the words makes her neck feel hot.

 

The security line has moved along a bit, but she’s stuck in her spot, watching the three dots appear and disappear, as he takes impossibly long to respond.

 

 _what do you think, Tessa?_ he finally says.

 

She breathes in, breathes out.

 

 _you better not ruin it, i have to wear it tomorrow,_ she shoots back.

 

 _don’t worry, i’m not a naughty boy,_ he writes.

 

(Yes he fucking is, but she’ll let it slide this once.)

 

_oh, you’re not? so when i see you in a couple of hours, you’ll be good?_

 

 _i’ll be good to you_.

 

Oh. Well. She isn’t gonna start sexting with Scott in the security line of the London airport.

 

Is she?

 

Her neck begins to feel warmer and warmer, when a man speaks behind her.

 

“Hey sweetie, you mind?”

 

She looks up from her phone and sees the line has moved a few feet ahead. She turns around and says “I’m sorry,” with an apologetic grimace.

 

The man, who looks like a businessman in his 40s, has a sneering expression on his face and he appears ready to berate her, when recognition dawns and he turns tomato red. “Miss Virtue, I’m sorry, I didn’t- didn’t mean to bother you, I- I’m a huge fan!” he stutters, nonsensically. He’s about five seconds away from thanking her for her service and she really doesn’t want to comfort a dude who only apologized for being condescending because of who she is. She plasters on her media smile, cheerily tells him “Don’t worry about it, travel safe!” and drags her hand luggage along as she moves ahead to place her things on the security belt.

 

 _you better be_ , she writes to Scott, and adds _going to board soon_.

 

 _have a safe flight, baby. 314, I’ve left a keycard for you at the reception,_ he replies.

 

Three hours, a flight and a cab ride later, she pads quietly into the hotel room in Winnipeg. She leaves her suitcases by the door, takes off her sneakers and jacket, and reaches the single bed. He’s fast asleep, of course, and the blue dress is still in his hands, _of course_. She smirks and bends down to extract it from his grip, taking care to lay it across a chair carefully, since she has to wear it tomorrow. She takes off her sweatshirt, climbs on the narrow bed and dives deep into Scott’s arms.

 

They’re huddled together, curled up around each other, and it’s exactly where she wants to be.

 

—

 

The next few days pass in a flurry of activity, traveling from one city to the next, going in and out of business calls with her agent and her corporate partners, and little moments with Scott.

 

Wednesday morning, they spend three hours practicing on ice, before joining Patrick for lunch at Stella’s. She orders a veggie burger and laughs with the weird face Scott makes at _coleslaw_ , of all things. She doesn’t remember when he developed this aversion to it, but she finds it adorable. He can be such a baby about food, and way back in the day it used to annoy her but now she cherishes his little quirks. And if he can deal with the dozens of cartons that she keeps in the fridge to feed her egg obsession, she can definitely deal with his intense hatred of cabbage.

 

The show is an immense success, and, not for the first time, she marvels at how great the tour has been. She thinks it’s a combination of things: the weight of the Olympics, both the Sochi and the Pyeongchang edition, finally lifted off her shoulders; the sold-out crowds and the immense support they get at every show, after every routine, in every meet and greet; the relief of both having and _feeling_ Scott by her side, always.

 

She’s feeling him now, as they’re gearing up for what has definitely morphed into their favorite part of the entire show: the chorus of _Shape of You_. They didn’t really discuss it, but apparently they both decided that this little interlude between their more _serious_ displays of showmanship is their time to have all-out fun, and they’re going to make the most of it. She’ll lean on Scott, and expose her neck for him to kiss, and if his hands roam way too close to her breasts, she’ll smile in approval and, like the song says, follow his lead.

 

On their way out, Jeff gives them an intense side-eye, and Gabby smirks as she passes them on the tunnel, but Tessa does not plan on toning _anything_ down, any time soon.

 

They ride the bus back to the hotel, and she sits next to Kaitlyn while Scott goes to Javi, and continues an earlier conversation they had about tapas bars in Madrid. He tells Javi that he might be doing a road trip along the Mediterranean in the fall and he desperately needs Javi’s insight, because this trip needs to be authentic. Javi is ecstatic to act as consultant, and begins to sing the praises of Almería, completely ignoring the fact that _authentic_ is a word that Tessa uses about ten times a day. If he didn’t ignore it, he would probably guess that the road trip was Tessa’s idea, and she has completed the itinerary to the road trip already, and she’s practically memorized the entire Lonely Planet guide to Spain. But a Spaniard’s input is definitely appreciated, so she eavesdrops on the conversation while pretending to play on her phone and mentally taking notes.

 

“If you go to Murcia and don’t eat _arroz caldero,_ I don’t want to know you anymore. It’ll be like coming to Winnipeg and not eating poutine!”

 

“A crime punishable by death.”

 

“I don’t even know if Winnipeg has good poutine,” laughs Javi.

 

“Are you kidding me? Albert Street has brought me the _best_ poutines I’ve ever had. _Seriously_ epic,” says Scott.

 

Tessa slowly looks up from her phone.

 

Javi is back on the subject of the best routes in southern Spain, but Scott turns softly to Tessa and meets her eyes.

 

There’s no sadness in the look they exchange. Once upon a time he spent weeks and months in Winnipeg, loving the city _(not just the city),_ getting familiar with everything about it _(about her),_ carefully planning his trips and a life and a future _._ That is the past, but the future changed, and what he’s left with is knowledge.

 

It’s okay now. They’re okay now.

 

He smiles, reaching across the aisle to wrap his hand around hers, and Javi or Kaitlyn might notice, but that’s okay, too.

 

—

 

On Thursday they go to Saskatoon, where Tessa has managed to book a last-minute yoga class _and_ a dance lesson, thanks to Marie-France’s contacts in the city. The sessions are brutal, and afterwards Scott looks just about ready to die.

 

“I’ll get back at you for this,” he says, his breath coming out in short puffs.

 

Revenge comes in the form of shots at The Rook and Raven, his favorite pub in town. The owner knows Scott, and he makes sure they have a quiet, private booth all to themselves. Scott doesn’t mind, because he doesn’t _ever_ mind, but Tessa would rather not take photos with fans when she’s tipsy, and she definitely doesn’t want to take photos when she’s drunk. Which she isn’t, no sir, not even a teeny, tiny bit. The owner ( _what a kind, gracious man, so nice, so helpful, and also quite good looking for a 59-year old, no Scott don’t pout like that, you’re still hotter, hmmm yes you are_ ) calls an Uber for them, and Scott helps her in, even though she isn’t drunk. She is _not_.

 

Revenge also comes in the form of a blinding headache on Friday morning. She burrows under the covers because the sun is physically hurting her right now, and as she pats around the mattress she realizes Scott isn’t there. His jacket from last night is on the chair, but he is nowhere to be found. At 8am.

 

She gets dressed and pads down to the breakfast buffet, where she hopes some Earl Grey and two croissants will cure this feeling of near-death that she refuses to call a hangover. Meagan is eating at a nearby table and she is definitely in the _not a morning person_ club along with Tessa. They are sipping tea together, trying to keep their eyes open, when the rambunctious sound of chatter reaches her ears. The guys have been out, it seems, and Scott, the traitor, catches her eye and walks over to the table from across the lobby.

 

“How are you feeling on this fine morning, ladies?” he says brightly.

 

“Like hell,” she tells him, through gritted teeth. He just winks at her playfully.

 

“Where were you guys?” asks Meagan.

 

“Oh, just out for a boys’ breakfast. A walk around town. Saskatoon is so beautiful in the early morning, we couldn’t miss it!”

 

Tessa side-eyes him, hard _._

 

Apparently, the lengths a morning person will go to in order to enjoy their morning are _unimaginable_.

 

—

 

It’s not his fault, exactly.

 

Meaning, she doesn’t really blame him for being built like a brick wall.

 

Still, the fact remains that his pecs are distracting, so it isn’t really a surprise that she touches him, and two seconds later completely misses her cue for the spin.

 

She stares at him and he stares at her, and it only takes a moment for her to recover, take a step and roll into his arms for a dip.

 

“I don’t think anybody noticed,” he says from above her, and promptly bursts out laughing.

 

Well, anybody who hadn’t noticed before will surely notice now, as she joins him, giggling loudly. Once upon a time, she would have been so hard on herself, even for this tiny mistake on a tour program. She would have sobered up immediately, getting back into character in a second, but now she only feels light as a feather, and she just wants to laugh. So she does.

 

Her phone rings in the ladies’ locker room after the show, a Toronto number. She is shocked to hear Guillaume Côté on the other side of the line. He read their interview with The Globe and Mail, he says, and he would be absolutely delighted to work with them. She manages not to squeal when she tells him that they’re leaving straight for Japan next week, but they’ll be back in the summer and will definitely visit Toronto to meet up with him and Heather.

 

She hangs up and runs to Scott, giving him a recap of the conversation. She sees the excitement build on his face, and she knows what’s coming.

 

“Are you thinking what i’m thinking?” she asks, breathlessly. He gives her a wicked smile and nods.

 

They get back to the hotel and really, there’s no time to waste. It’s impossible to wait.

 

They make a beeline for the reception, where he charms the desk manager into surrendering the key to the hotel’s fitness center after hours. Once in the gym, she hooks her phone to the sound systems and Prokofiev’s masterpiece begins to echo in the room.

 

It’s their dream program.

 

They watched Guillaume do _Romeo and Juliet_ at the NBC, on a chilly November night almost three years ago. She remembers the rush of emotion in her veins when the corps de ballet appeared on stage. More than that, she remembers that Scott reached for her hand during the balcony scene, squeezing tight. She didn’t dare to look at him, nor he at her. It was early days back then, a ridiculous notion when considering the years they’d spent together at that point. Still, it was a _new_ time for them, ripe with questions and open, unknown roads. She squeezed back and stared ahead, and when he dropped her off at the end of the night she kissed him on the cheek, lingering for a few seconds more and hoping that he understood what she meant to tell him by it.

 

(He did.)

 

The music of the balcony scene plays now in the hotel gym, and they perform the pas de deux as well as they can remember, bending and turning and laughing along the way. God knows they need practice if they are ever to perform anything remotely close to ballet in public, but it’s all right.

 

Time is on their side, and the possibilities are endless.

 

—

 

She wakes up on Saturday morning with the weird feeling that she was just flying. She can feel a throbbing heartbeat somewhere on her body, and she thinks maybe the impromptu ballet session last night was a bad idea. They should have gone back to her room a little earlier, rested for a few more hours, since this weekend’s schedule is brutal, with barely any room to breathe. The throbbing pulse quickens and she’s so frustrated that she twists her body, bumping into Scott.

 

 _Scott_.

 

Suddenly she remembers what the flying thing was about. She dreamt that she was on the ice, doing Moulin Rouge with him, except she was wearing the blue _Shape of You_ dress instead of the red one, and as she was flying into the rotational lift, he stopped her, put her back down, told her to lie down on the ice, and fucked her.

 

So she had a sex dream about Scott. While Scott was sleeping next to her. Because between practice and skating and sleeping and drinks and ballet, they haven’t had sex in… five days.

 

This is, to put it mildly, unacceptable.

 

She turns to him and tries to nudge him awake.

 

“Scott, wake up.”

 

No dice. She shakes his arm harder, and he barely stirs.

 

“Scott.”

 

Nothing. He’s dead to the world.

 

“I need you.”

 

His eyes pop open in a millisecond. If she weren’t in such a state, she would ponder the fact that the word _need_ from her lips was all he needed to scramble into action.

 

“What is it?”

 

“I said, I need you.”

 

“You need me to what?”

 

He woke up, but apparently not enough to catch her drift. She grabs his hand, shoves it down her shorts and gets straight to the point.

 

“I need you to fuck me.”

 

His eyes widen and his mouth pops open, but his hand isn’t moving. He looks back at the nightstand at the clock that reads _7.48_.

 

“Tessa, we can’t. We have to go.”

 

“We got time,” she says, trying to wiggle her hips against his hand and create the friction she needs.

 

“You’re killing me,” he says, dropping his forehead on her shoulder.

 

She decides to speed things up, and moves her hand to cup his erection.

 

“No, _now_ I’m killing you.”

 

“Oh, fuck.”

 

“Yeah, that’s exactly my point.”

 

“Tess.”

 

She moves her leg upwards, opening up and his fingers move slowly against her center.

 

“Days ago, you said you’d be good to me, remember?” she whispers. He nods against her shoulder. “So be good to me.”

 

“Fuck,” he says under his breath, and in the next second his parted lips lean into hers for a passionate kiss. He’s barely moved his fingers an inch, when a loud noise startles them and makes them break apart.

 

“Tessa! TESSA!” someone screams from the hallway, banging the door.

 

It’s Jeff. Fucking Jeff.

 

“Tessa, get up now! The bus leaves in ten minutes!”

 

 _No it doesn’t,_ she wants to yell, _it leaves in thirty minutes but you’re annoying and want us down at the reception by 8._ Really, she would have no problem to argue about this with Jeff, but Scott’s fingers are _almost_ inside her and his other hand has come up to cover her mouth (in case she randomly decides to actually start yelling), and he probably didn’t even mean this to be hot but it _is_ hot and it’s making her even hornier right now, and he feels it because his eyes change and then he actually pushes two fingers in and it turns out that the hand on her mouth was a _really_ good idea _._

 

She is completely ignoring the constant banging on the door. She can do this. She is gonna fuck Scott, and Jeff can go fuck himself for all she cares.

 

“Scott!” Jeff screams.

 

They both freeze.

 

“Scott, if you don’t open this door in one minute, I swear to God.”

 

Scott pulls back and looks at her apologetically. She throws her head against the pillow and tries not to scream.

 

“Scott!”

 

“Coming!”

 

 _I fucking wish_ , she thinks.

 

—

 

The flight lands in Calgary in the afternoon and since they’re cutting it real close, time-wise, they all head straight to the arena to prepare for the show. As soon as they step into the rink for warmup, a bunch of excited voices are heard from the stands.

 

“Uncle Scott, Uncle Scott!”

 

Danny, his wife Tessa and their kids are there, and she’s delighted to see them again. They met up last month when she and Scott were last here for an event, but she’s already missed them. She hugs Danny and his wife, while the kids are already climbing on their uncle, laughing. Practice is even more fun than usual with them in the audience, cheering and clapping at every move and lift. Scott takes his nephew on an airplane ride around the rink, to the little boy’s delight, and to Tessa’s delight as well. He’s such a good uncle, so loving and nurturing. She knows how easy he is with kids. He always cares, and most importantly, he always listens.

 

It makes her heart beat faster, in ways she can’t put into words.

 

The show is interesting, in that Tessa and Scott try to not be _Tessa and Scott_ so much, and for the most part fail miserably. He burrows his head into her shoulder and ghosts his lips over her neck and she arches against him, business as usual. When he sits on that goddamn stool she can see his hand inch towards the back of her leg, like it did in Montreal, and then who knows what else he might do? She looks down between them and whispers, _behave_. He drops his hand and, miraculously, manages not to pout.

 

Afterwards, they head to Danny’s house for dinner. In true Moir fashion, it’s a loud, happy affair, and after having a delicious roast beef, the kids lure Scott into playing Twister with them while Tessa One and Tessa Two have chocolate cake and talk about the summer carnival that Alma is preparing in Ilderton.

 

“Time for bed,” Danny tells the kids when it gets late. Predictably, they cause a fuss. Charlotte jumps onto Scott’s back for a piggyback ride.

 

“Is Uncle Scott going to stay here?”

 

“Please, please stay and come read us a story!”

 

“Can Aunt Tessa stay too?”

 

Aunt Tessa looks up to see Charlotte staring at her pleadingly. A deathly quiet has fallen across the room, and Tessa’s heart is doing somersaults.

 

Scott is giving her The Look. The one he saves for truly momentous occasions.

 

This is one of them.

 

She’s been a part of his family for as long as she can remember. They opened the door and let her in, saving her a place at their table and in their hearts. Alma was a mother to her, and she will tell her so when she calls her tomorrow, for Mother’s Day. Charlie and Danny supported and protected her, against self-doubt and skating insecurities and Scott’s most idiotic teenage moments. She considers Joe and Carol and Sheri and Cara her family, and she never had to question if they thought the same of her. She knows they always have, and always will.

 

But this is different. Charlotte is grown now, but she’s still a _baby_ , and she’s only ever known Tessa as the nice friend that plays with her and brings her lollipops. But now she wants Tessa in her family, officially. Charlotte wants her to be Aunt Tessa, because for a child the leap is simple: why would she be anything else when she so clearly belongs with Uncle Scott?

 

There’s a shift happening, and there’s a choice to be made, and she isn’t afraid of either of those things.

 

“What do you think, Mom and Dad?” she asks Danny and his wife. “Can Uncle Scott and Aunt Tessa stay?”

 

Danny is beaming at her, kind of like he did when he first saw her after the win in Pyeongchang three months ago. Somehow, he looks even more proud of her _now_.

 

“They sure can,” he finally says, and the children cause a ruckus again. “Aunt Tessa will take the guest bedroom and Uncle Scott,” he looks pointedly at his brother, “will be sleeping on the couch.”

 

His brother misses the look entirely, because he’s too busy staring at Tessa with an expression that she hasn’t really seen before.

 

He puts Charlotte down with a kiss on her forehead. The kids shuffle along to get ready for bedtime, their mom trailing behind them to make sure they brush their teeth and get into their PJs immediately.

 

Tessa doesn’t even realize what her eyes are doing until a tear rolls down her face, and Scott strides towards her to lift her into his arms.

 

“Welcome,” he whispers into her hair, and she can practically hear the smile in his voice.

 

He puts her down but they stay entwined, swaying lightly on the spot.

 

“You two are unbelievable,” Danny says.

 

“Excuse me?” says Scott indignantly, turning to look at him.

 

“Oh, I don’t mean now, this is heartwarming and adorable,” laughs Danny. “I mean during the show.”

 

“What about the show?”

 

“Scott, people have eyes.”

 

“And?”

 

“ _And_ they can see all of your bullshit. All of it!” He’s laughing so hard, he starts wheezing. “What the _hell_ were you guys doing during that number after intermission? Children were watching! _My_ children were watching!”

 

“Shut up, Danny,” says Scott, very maturely.

 

“Goodnight, Tutu. Scotty, if I catch you sneaking into the guest bedroom, you’re dead,” says Danny, walking down the hallway towards his kids’ room.

 

House rules _suck._

 

—

 

Sunday breakfast at the Moirs’ is the best meal Tessa has had in at least a week. She stuffs her face with as many chocolate chip pancakes as she can take and has a contest with her new _nephew_ on who can drink their milk faster (he wins, of course). Scott and Tessa say their goodbyes with long hugs and a promise for a Skype call from every city they go to from here on out, and then they’re off to the airport, for their short flight to Edmonton.

 

It’s been six days now, and Tessa is squirming in her window seat, feeling fit to burst. It’s a good thing they have an early show today, because every part of her is on edge and she doesn’t know how much longer she can hold in this energy. From the aisle seat, Scott looks at her, his mouth a thin line, and he must be having the exact same thought process.

 

“After the show,” she says in a low voice.

 

“Yes, please,” he whispers.

 

The Edmonton crowd gives off a great vibe, clapping enthusiastically and generously offering standing ovations. The show goes perfectly, with nary a fall for any of the skaters and just after intermission Tessa sets the countdown clock in her mind. She is wearing her blue dress, and as they go out into the ice Scott’s eyes are locked into hers. They go through the moves, and by now she expects Scott’s hands to roam way, way further than what the choreography specified.

 

The difference tonight is the intent. He digs his fingers into her waist and roughly squeezes as he makes his way up. They skate to their position at the stools just after the second chorus, and as she twists around him to sit on the table, he tugs on her dress and pulls. She looks back at him in shock, but he just cocks his eyebrows imperceptibly.

 

 _Take it off_ , he mouths with a smirk, and she prays that no-one in the lower tier has a super good camera, or an advanced ability for lip reading.

 

They reach the end of the show, somehow, and she quickly changes into a thin-strapped black dress for the meet and greet. Five minutes into the whole process, she realizes she is shivering from the cold coming in from the arena, and she hasn’t brought any jackets with her. Scott, who hasn’t really stopped checking her out until she entered the room and sat next to him, immediately notices.

 

Without even asking, he takes off his jacket and places it over her shoulders. He rubs up and down her arms to make her warmer and before the next fan reaches them, he says, “I’m gonna go out with the guys for a little bit.”

 

“What!?” she whispers, but actually she wants to scream.

 

“I’m sorry, Chiddy asked yesterday and I forgot that I had promised him I’d come along.”

 

She huffs and puffs and really tries not to march over to Patrick’s table and throw a glass of water to his face.

 

“I won’t be long, promise,” he says apologetically. Then he lowers his voice even more.

 

“Wrap the jacket around you. I want your smell on me till I get back to you,” he says, and she fights to disguise the choked breath that comes from her throat.

 

Fifteen minutes later, the meet and greet ends, and she excuses herself to go the bathroom. When she comes back out, Scott is at the exit, ready to take off with the guys. She goes to him and with a sweet smile she gives the jacket back to him.

 

She keeps her eyes on him as he puts it on, and she waits for the other shoe to drop.

 

He casually stuffs his hands in the pockets of his jacket, and she can pinpoint the exact moment he finds the gift she left him. The easy smile disappears from his face, and his jaw clenches and he looks back at her. if she didn’t know better, she’d think he’s angry. And maybe he is.

 

 _Don’t_ , he mouths.

 

She doesn’t nod or shake her head. She just looks at him, until he is out of sight.

 

—

 

She goes back to the hotel and loses time, pacing up and down the room. She sits down on the bed, and feels the fabric of her dress. It’s soft and smooth, and her hand inches closer to where she aches, but she snatches it away and gets back up. Right now, it feels wrong to do it without him. They’ve been waiting for days, and he told her not to.

 

But what if he did it too?

 

She imagines him holding his beer in one hand, his other toying with the wet undergarment in his pocket. The images flood her in quick succession. He’s excusing himself to the bathroom with a bright, boyish smile, and he’s locking himself inside a stall and he’s unbuttoning his pants, and he’s leaning his head against the wall and taking the panties and shoving them down his briefs, and he’s rubbing the wetness all over his dick, and he’s thrusting desperately into the thong, and before he comes he has to bite his fist to block out the sound of his moan, the sound of her name, _Tessa Tessa Tessa_.

 

 _Or_ he is waiting for her. He’s keeping it inside, until they see each other again.

 

The mere thought sends a violent shudder down her spine. She sits down on the bed, barely holding back a groan, when she hears the vibration of her phone on the bed.

 

 _i just left_ , he writes.

 

She lets the groan out.

 

This is going to be the longest ten minutes ever.

 

—

 

When she hears the door open, she shoots up from the bed and turns around, looking out the window. She is afraid if she looks directly at his face right this moment, she’ll explode into a million pieces.

 

“Tessa?” he says quietly. She stays silent, tries to control her breathing.

 

She sees his reflection in the window approach her, tugging off the jacket and tossing it to the side. She doesn’t even glance at his face, keeping her focus on his hands. He’s unbuttoned the top of his shirt, when he reaches her.

 

She can feel him next to her shoulder, when he whispers, “Did you touch yourself?”

 

“No,” she means to say emphatically, but it comes out breathless. His shoulders bracket her in, but he’s being a good boy, keeping his arms pinned to his own sides. “Did you?”

 

“No,” his lips say as he rolls his tongue over her pulse point and the edge of her jawline. “Do you wanna be touched?”

 

She has no words for him. Instead, she grabs his hands and guides them to her waist. He wastes no time, running up her torso, just like he does every night of their show. But instead of pulling his hands to her sides, he continues upwards until he finds the straps of her dress and pulls them down just enough to free her breasts. He _knew_ , he must have known she wasn’t wearing a bra but still he lets out a shuddering breath.

 

“Fuck, Tessa.”

 

She feels something inside her heat up at the thought that after all this time, the sight of her still makes him weak. She tightens her grip and leads his hands to close over her nipples. “Touch me,” she finally says.

 

He pinches her nipples roughly then, attaching his mouth to her neck, picking a spot and licking and sucking and licking again, and on to the next spot, and the frantic pace of his mouth is at direct odds with the way he slowly, torturously slides her dress further down to expose her midriff. His hands slide right over her belly button ring and _push_ , and she feels her walls clench, her head falling back on his shoulder, her mouth dropping open involuntarily. She reaches her hands back to dig into his hair, curling the soft locks around her fingers and digging in. He growls and loses his patience, pushing the dress the rest of the way down and pulling her hips back against him. He thrusts into the small of her back and moves his hands from her hips to her center. He drags his fingers over her pussy, slowly, agonizingly.

 

“You’ve been wet for so many hours,” he says in a pained voice.

 

“Just as many as you’ve been hard,” she says, and her laugh turns to a gasp when he pushes a finger in, easy.

 

“More. Please, Scott, more.”

 

He thrusts against her through his pants again and again, and he pushes two more fingers in. She can hear the wet sounds as he quickens the pace.

 

How can it feel like too much and yet not enough?

 

She lets out a growl and turns around suddenly to face him. He wasn’t expecting it and so it’s easy to push him back a few steps and onto the bed. His shirt is half-undone and she doesn’t hesitate before ripping the rest of the buttons off and tugging it from his shoulders. His hair is all over his face and she can’t really see his eyes but his hands tell her everything, digging desperately into her ass as she saunters on top of him.

 

He thinks he’s going to get his dick inside her now.

 

He’s wrong.

 

She plants her palms on his chest and her knees on either side of him, pushing him down flat to the mattress. His hair is wild, fanned out all over his face, and his mouth is open. Anticipating.

 

She drags her knees higher on the bed, moves up over his torso and tangles her fingers in his hair again. She combs it back, and suddenly his eyes are _there_ , dark and wanting. They look at each other for the first time tonight, and she lets out a deep gasp, because _yes_ she is ready for this but she still feels shaken to her core when his hands move from her ass to suddenly grip her thighs and pull her violently on top of his mouth.

 

Yes. _Yes_.

 

She almost comes off the bed with the first long lick of his tongue against her folds, the pleasure rushing in so immensely that she can’t help the high pitched gasp that leaves her throat.

 

“Oh, oh,” she moans, bucking her hips as his tongue flicks her clit. He starts to hum a moment later, and the vibrations, she thinks, just might be her downfall.

 

He is licking and sucking and nibbling and suddenly she feels like she can’t take it any more. The sensation is too much, it’s rising inside of her and she can’t look at him or she might die. She tugs his hair back and the way he moans makes her pulse beat so much faster she almost changes her mind. Almost. She tugs again as she lifts her pelvis away from him. His lips are swollen and his eyes are practically black as he looks first bewildered, then almost furious that she stopped him. She looks at him one last time, and then she lifts one knee and turns around, her body hovering just out of reach, like before, but on the opposite side. She undoes his belt and pulls the zipper down on his pants, tugging them down roughly along with his briefs. He kicks them down and off, and his dick bounces heavy on his stomach, already leaking at the tip, as she lowers her entire body flat against him.

 

“Fuck it good,” she says, and she doesn’t know if she means her pussy or her mouth or both. His lips come up against her once more and she grasps the base of his cock with strong fingers before pulling the tip into her mouth.

 

She knows him, and so she expects the way his hips shoot up immediately, bringing him deeper into her mouth. She wraps her lips around him and sets a steady rhythm, running her tongue on the side of him, in tandem with the twist of her fingers. She can feel his tongue between her folds, exploring, delving in and out, again and again, and it’s torture. When she hollows her cheeks and reaches down to fondle his balls, he lets out a loud groan, latching on to her clit and sucking aggressively.

 

It isn't going to slip away from her. This is what she’s been chasing, and now that it’s within her reach, she surrenders to it completely.

 

She lets his dick fall from her mouth and a series of loud moans escape her, one after the other. She’s probably louder than the thin walls of an Edmonton neighborhood hotel allow, but she is so far gone she wouldn’t mind if the entire city heard her. She’s close, so close, and the high is rising and rising and she has this brief moment of terror that she’ll just stay on the verge of orgasm, like this, forever, until he stops sucking her clit and _bites_.

 

She loses control of her limbs and her torso and her mind, and then her own voice echoes in the room, saying _baby, baby, Scott, Scott, fuck me, oh my God._ Her legs are trembling and she feels like she’s floating, boneless. She can register on some part of her brain, the only one that seems to function still, that Scott is pushing her bent body down his torso. She can’t bring her back to stand upright just yet, and so she crawls forward to the edge of the bed, as he helps her line up her center with where she needs to be. Then she can feel him brushing against her folds, teasing around but not going in. He’s holding back now, but she _needs_ him in.

 

“Scott,” she whines.

 

“Wait,” he whispers, and it’s amazing what his voice can do to her. The effect has been cultivated through years and years of touching and connecting, on the ice and off, and she’s never been able to explain the hypnotizing influence it has on her. It’s been soothing when she needs the calm, and agitating when she has to channel her anger into movement, and commanding when she needs to be pushed from the precipice into the abyss, and steadying after a devastating fall, and powerful when she wants his strength in the final moments of a dance.

 

This, too, is a dance, and it’s the power he encased in that one word that grounds her. She comes back to herself, and suddenly she can feel her walls still fluttering, the ache that still throbs in her center. Then she feels his palm, warm and strong, inching up her naked back. He’s sat on his heels behind her now, and she’s bent over, head and hair and arms and hands flat on the bed, her knees wide open on either side of him. His hand is making its way further up her spine, and then he reaches his favorite spot.

 

He cups the back of her neck, first lightly, then squeezing intently. She lets out a moan and even though she can’t see him, she could _swear_ he is smiling wickedly right now. Her insides clench in anticipation, and he takes his sweet time rubbing her neck, massaging her with his fingers and making her dizzy again.

 

There’s only so much she can wait before she _dies_.

 

“Please,” she says, and it’s enough, because they both know what she’s begging for.

 

He moves one hand from the back of her neck to her throat, buries his other hand in her hair, and pulls with _both_.

 

Her back slams against his chest, and they’re so close that he must be feeling the shiver that goes up and down her spine. She has to remind herself to the breathe, through the hand that presses against her pulse and him moaning of her name in her ear. She gets him where he needs to be and sinks down on him in one swift go. And then there’s nothing else to hear, no more waiting, no more preludes, only Scott all around her, inside of her, insistent and hard and thick as he fucks her steadily.

 

She turns her head to the side, needing to find him and ask him to anchor her. “Kiss me,” she says, and he swallows the words with his mouth. Their lips meet and she realizes this is the first time they’ve kissed tonight. Maybe it’s that they wanted to spend time with each other’s body first, because they both knew this connection, more than anything else, would drive them to the brink. It comes trueas they kiss, again and again, until he lifts her off him and she turns around to wrap her legs and arms around his back. Their lips meet again as he twists them around on the bed and lies on top of her. He pushes slowly inside her and their kisses turn desperate, on time with his thrusts and the roll of her hips against him.

 

Before she comes, she breaks the kiss and says his name in a hot whisper.

 

He opens his eyes to look into hers, and they take the leap together.

 

—

 

She’s tracing patterns on his arms long after he’s fallen asleep. His breaths are coming out slow and even, and his face is more serene than it has been in days. She’s lying on top of him, her cheek on his chest, and she feels just as calm as he looks, the rhythmic tap of his heartbeat lulling her to sleep. Her eyelids are heavy and she’s about to go out like a light when the buzzing sound of a text disrupts the quiet in the room.

 

She thinks about ignoring it, but what if it’s something important? The phone buzzes again, and her worrisome nature makes her begrudgingly extract herself from Scott’s arms. She pads around the dark room naked, trying to remember where she left her phone before Scott came in, when a third buzz comes through. It’s coming from somewhere at her feet, and when she looks down she sees the screen, lit-up with three texts. It isn’t her phone, she realizes when it’s in her hands, and she figures that it flew out of Scott’s pocket earlier, when he tossed his jacket to the side. She’s about to put the phone on the nightstand, because she _really_ is not the type of person that sneakily reads her boyfriend’s texts, nor does she have the slightest reason to check up on him or to worry that something is afoot.

 

Except, well. Her eye catches a few words on the screen.

 

And something is _definitely_ afoot.

 

The texts come from a group chat, and the title is _Eric in TBD._

 

TBD must refer to something “to be decided” for the tour, since Eric is the sender, but then why isn’t she in this group chat? And what’s left to decide for the tour anyway? There’s only two stops left before the end.

 

Curiosity gets the best of her, and she lights up the phone again, reading the previews of the texts.

 

Eric in _TBD_

_scott we just spoke to the rogers guy_

Eric in _TBD_

_and he said he can totally do it!!_

Eric in _TBD_

_he said to call him for details tomorrow at 9am_

 

The Rogers guy?

 

Who do they know named Rogers?

 

She scours her brain, trying to remember who out of the hundreds of people she’s met lately that could be the person of interest in this investigation, when it suddenly hits her, like a ton of bricks.

 

Rogers guy, as in Rogers Arena. In Vancouver.

 

On Thursday.

 

On her birthday.

 

Tessa’s Birth Day.

 

Her head snaps up to look at Scott, as if any revelation could be found in his sleeping form. He’s cuddling with her pillow now, oblivious to the fact that she is _on to him_.

 

Suddenly, everything clicks.

 

 _We’ll do something_ , he’d said casually a few days earlier, when a fan at a meet & greet had asked what she planned to do on her birthday and she had said that they had to work that day. _We’ll definitely do a little something._

 

 _A little something_ implies a beer at a pub or an informal dinner or a cake with twenty-nine candles, with love from the cast.

 

 _A little something_ does not need mysterious meetings and secret group chats and the explicit co-operation of the _Rogers guy_.

 

In a daze, she climbs back into bed, where Scott senses her presence and immediately reaches out an arm to take her in. His heartbeat is steadfast as before, but hers sounds like the galloping of a hundred horses.

 

Four more days.

 

Endless possibilities.

 

The anticipation is going to kill her.

**Author's Note:**

> list of things you can blame for what you’ve just read:
> 
> 1\. vm’s fuckery in edmonton. WE HAVE EYES SCOTT, WE CAN SEE YOU  
> 2\. the comeback video. you know, the one with the hair pulling and a bunch of alpha moments that def don’t belong in a video about the Olympics  
> 3\. that picture of scott’s hands, shoutout to my dudes at saffron road  
> 4\. tessa’s underappreciated, legendary jump onto scott at the beginning of MR  
> and  
> 5\. a certain sex act suggestion by rainy-sunshine on tumblr
> 
> comments are love!


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